|
…fiction is the
art of controlled exaggeration… …empathy means
targeting the correct reader reaction… …take a few
coloured pens… …believable
characters are a must… …be specific,
not woolly… … use the
definite and indefinite article with purpose… …a snapshot of
life, not a life-story… …can your story
illustrate a theme? |
Linda Acaster WRITER, TUTOR,
COACH
Writing
short stories is not an easy option but the initial results, barring the
necessary spit and polish, are about as instantaneous as any prose writing
gets, and there is nothing like seeing a ‘finished’ product to furnish a
sense of accomplishment. However, you still need to know what you are doing
for it to be successful. Try this article on… Structuring Short Fiction © If
you have never tried to create fiction, where do you start? The likelihood is
that you are already doing it. Didn’t you lean across the fence and relate
that encounter with the burly individual at the market who tried to short
change you? And didn’t your neighbour’s eyes widen when you explained how you
pressed your demands for justice? And didn’t you exaggerate, just a teeny
bit? Like he was only five foot nothing and as skinny as a rake, not six foot
three and built like a brick whatsit? Besides, the whole thing was a genuine
mistake, wasn’t it? There were profuse apologies all round and he even threw
in a paint brush to mollify your irritation. Okay,
so perhaps you didn’t exaggerate that much, but it was a good story.
You enjoyed telling it. Your neighbour enjoyed hearing it. And whoever your
neighbour tells it to, complete with new embellishments, they will enjoy it,
too. It’s only a side-step from recounting a fiction to writing a fiction.
That side-step is not in the physical act of committing it to paper, but in
the clarity of the storytelling. In
an oral story a little dexterity of voice and body language can overcome all the
um, er, repetition, and flying off at a tangent in which we all indulge. On
paper not only are these gaffes visible for all to see, but they blow
whistles and wave flags. The first requirement in a written short story is a
structure. Think of this as the bones on which to hang the flesh. Introduce
the focus character and the scene Show
that character’s problem Add
a complication Which
brings about a crisis Have
the character work out a resolution Wrap up the
story quickly so as to Elicit
a reader’s reaction The
structure outlined above is a very basic, chronological, skeleton, but a
little explanation would not go amiss. The
first line does not read Set the scene; introduce
the focus character. No longer does the term ‘short story’ mean
any length of prose up to 8,000 words. Modern short stories are short.
We live in a world of 24 hour news bulletins, with pictures being beamed from
all parts of the globe, giving us instant snapshots of life in all its
diverse forms. Readers will happily paint in the colours of the background as
they go. Simply get on with the tale. Show that character’s problem. No matter how many characters there are in a short
story, though at this stage I wouldn’t suggest juggling with more than three,
there is always a focus character. If
that character doesn’t have a problem there is no story. We might strive to
live a happy and fruitful life, but reading about one is just plain boring. Problems
come in all shapes and sizes but can be generalised into two categories:
external and internal. An external problem can be a pile of quick-drying
cement setting on the lounge carpet – I’ll leave you to work out how it got
there. An internal problem can be the focus character’s vanity, or
selfishness, or extravagance, providing a ripe situation. The
complication is usually external; if
you like, a trick of fate or an unrecognised possibility. It doesn’t have to
be exotic; it can be quite mundane. What it must do is bring about a naturally
evolved crisis. For
the focus character the crisis is the turning point. The character may cast
around for a heaven-sent solution, but none must be to hand. There should be
no guardian angel perched up in a tree, and no waking up to find it was all a
dream. Through a change in the character’s own thoughts or actions a resolution will be presented that should
perceptively alter that character, perhaps for life. After
the resolution the story needs to be wrapped up
as fast as possible. This is sometimes called the anti-climax, and often this
element is omitted altogether leaving the reader to complete the sequence of
events to his/her own mental satisfaction. If the reader has empathised with
the character during the telling of the story the reader will experience an emotional reaction B the ahh, err, ooh, ugh, factor. If the reader
hasn’t empathised with the character the story will be put aside to the
likely accompaniment of mutterings along the lines of ‘...load of old tripe’. A good exercise is to take a recently published short story you have
enjoyed reading and mark the structure. Half an hour and a few coloured pens
are all you need to realise how difficult this can be. If you have chosen a
story you enjoy it will invariably have been well written; well written
because the writer not only knows what flesh is required on the bones, but
what clothing and perfume is best suited to package, and therefore disguise,
the whole. Apart from that, there may be more than a single complication or a
single crisis, and the elements may not be in as neat an order as set out
above. A writer uses sleight of
hand with the same dexterity as a magician with a pack of playing cards. Learning
from the masters may be the best advice anyone can give, but it is no advice
at all if the pieces overlap so tightly that there is no way to see through.
Instead, let’s look at the offering below. Sarah had bought all the groceries and could still afford the
skirt. Michael had told her that she had lots of skirts, but she really
wanted this one and so she bought it. It wasn’t until she was ready to cook
the evening meal that she realised she had forgotten to buy the main
ingredient, and now she had no money. Michael would be angry if there was
nothing for dinner again. What was she going to do? She had a marvellous
idea. She telephoned Michael and asked him to bring home a Chinese take-away.
They ate the take-away and Michael never knew that she had spent the
housekeeping on a skirt. There
you are B a short story in 112 words. Mark the elements. Got
them all? Wasn’t hard was it? It wasn’t hard because the story was dire.
It also proves that structure alone will not make a story readable. Don’t go
beyond this paragraph until you’ve listed everything you can think of that is
wrong with it. How
did you do? Let’s concentrate on the main weaknesses: Lack of dialogue.
The entire story is told in the form of a summary. Many beginners fall foul of
this trap, trying to take their focus character from the point where the
story begins right to their character’s old age grave. Dialogue brings an
immediacy to a story and helps to delineate character. Jumping Time.
The second sentence takes us through three time zones. Michael had told
her that she had lots of skirts is remembered by Sarah (past historic). ...but
she really wanted this one is current time (shown in the past tense the
story is written in), and ...so she bought it is again current time, but
a jump into the near future of perhaps twenty minutes. It wasn’t until she
was ready to cook... is current time a further jump into the future,
later that same day. There
is nothing wrong with jumping time B
a story told as it happens, minute by tedious minute, would have the reader
falling asleep B but jumping time has to be handled deftly. The
phrase Michael had told her... could have been better utilised in
flashback, Sarah remembering how the Saturday before she and Michael had
stood in front of the shop window looking at the skirt. Through dialogue,
Michael can show his feelings towards the proposed purchase, and Sarah her
resentment of his attitude. Lack of Detail.
Description is, by necessity, cut to a minimum in a short story, but that
doesn’t mean that woolliness takes its place. ...evening meal ...main
ingredient. Sarah and Michael could be looking forward to smoked salmon
and caviar, or baked beans on toast. Why is Sarah so desperate to buy that
particular skirt? Is it gold lamé or cotton cheesecloth? Mini, maxi, or
covered in bells? …Michael had told her that she had lots of skirts...
How many is lots? Is Sarah a shopaholic? Being specific brings people, and
items, into sharp focus. Lack of Characterisation. Although Sarah is obviously the focus character she is only lightly
sketched; the subsidiary character, Michael, hardly more than a name. In a
short story there is little room to manoeuvre, certainly not enough for
detailed explanations of the characters’ motives or past histories. Much of
this should be integrated into exchanges of dialogue, as suggested during the
flashback. Sympathetic/Believable Characters. Although this follows on from characterisation it
deserves a mention on its own. Stories can be successfully written about
unsympathetic characters, but unbelievable characters provide a much greater
test. Sarah is close to being an unbelievable character. Would she really
only notice that she had not bought the main ingredient for a meal as she was
about to cook it? Blips like this can
be smoothed out in the story’s rewrite. Sarah’s
inherent deceit is another matter. In contradiction of Michael’s wish, she
buys a skirt she doesn’t need using the housekeeping to purchase it, so
leaving them without an evening meal. She shows no remorse; her only worry is
that Michael will be angry again, implying that this is not the first
time this has happened. She asks Michael to bring home a take-away, thus
engineering his paying for the meal. This she considers a marvellous idea.
The reader is left in no doubt that she neither explains to Michael about the
meal nor shows him the skirt, which has now become a
skirt, just another to be placed with all the rest she owns. Standing
alongside mass murderers and child rapists, Sarah is hardly the devil’s own
progeny, but she is most definitely an unsympathetic character. Her flaws are
not tempered by any conscious decisions; she does not change within the
framework of the story, and she shows no likelihood of doing so in some
unwritten future. Despite
protecting our own character flaws we prefer to see those belonging to
someone else purged. Fiction should mirror life, and just as life is
multi-layered, fiction cannot be presented in stark black and white. It is
the writer’s sleight of hand which uses the myriad shades of grey to produce
the desired effect, and this can only be achieved by the practice of writing
fiction. Reader Reaction.
How did you react to the story? It was hardly a satisfying read, was it? If
any emotion was experienced it was likely to have been something along the
lines of mild disgust at Sarah’s moral behaviour. But is that the reaction
the writer meant to be experienced? After
tearing the story limb from tenuous limb, did it hold any strengths?
Actually, it did. It encompassed the scope of a short story: a thin slice of
life, not an entire life story. Spending the money for an evening meal on an
unnecessary skirt is not the sort of stuff from which novels grow. The story
also concentrated on a single character and a single problem; there were no
appearances by Aunt Gertie, Sarah’s six unmarried cousins, or the neighbour’s
dog. And
it illustrated a theme, if not a particularly strong one: Insincerity. A
better theme would have been Short Term Gain, Long Term Loss, where Sarah’s
deceit in getting the short term gain of Michael paying for their meal is
offset by her long term loss of Michael when he walks out on her after
discovering yet another skirt in the wardrobe and a letter from their
landlord demanding back rent that Sarah had told him she had paid. Short
stories don’t have to illustrate themes, but they often do, even if it isn’t
a conscious pre-requisite of the planning stage. So,
where does this leave us? There is that pile of quick-drying cement in the
middle of the lounge carpet. What sort of story structure could lead to that
sort of crisis? © Linda D Acaster This
article first appeared in the UK magazine Writers’ Monthly | Home | FAQ
| Tips & Links | Articles | Email | |